


Cars

by Salchat



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:06:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22753705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salchat/pseuds/Salchat
Summary: Sheppard and McKay and their remote-controlled cars clash with Teyla and a wakeful Torren once too often.  They decide to find somewhere a bit more out-of-the-way where they can race without disturbing anyone.  What could go wrong?
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	1. Racing

Atlantis at night; a sparkling diamond in the velvet black of the ocean. Serene; peaceful in its Ancient dignity. Then a slowly-building whining sound and the silence shattered by a yell.

"Sheppard! You cut me up again!"

"All part of racing, McKay, you know what they say: 'If you can't stand the heat...'"

The whining crescendoed as two remote-controlled cars, a blue Maserati and a red Lamborghini, sped along the corridor. A sharp left, the blue spun around, cannoning into the red and both careened across the smooth floor and impacted hard on a door.

The was silence. And then a piercing, wailing shriek. The door slid open and out came Teyla, dishevelled, carrying a wailing Torren in her arms, red-faced and drooling, chewing on his fists in an attempt to relieve the pain in his gums. Teyla put one of her fingers in his mouth and he latched onto it, chewing hard.

Teyla's eyes fell on the cars and their two shame-faced drivers. She had looked less frightening as a Wraith queen.

"Three minutes!" she spat. " _Three! Minutes!_ That is how long he has been asleep! All night!"

The two men shifted uneasily. "Sorry, Teyla," they muttered.

"It is very late!" Teyla said, sternly. "You should both be in bed!"

"Well, we were working on some Ancient artefacts," said Rodney.

"Yeah, some really cool ones!" enthused John.

"And we had some coffee," added Rodney.

"A lot of coffee!" said John.

"Waaay too much coffee," giggled Rodney, then immediately tried to stifle his glee and look contrite.

"And then we had some power bars," continued John.

"A lot of power bars!" said Rodney, unable to contain his enthusiasm.

"Waaay too many power bars!" John grinned.

"And now we're hyped!" Rodney bounced slightly on his toes.

Teyla looked at them stonily. She took her finger out of Torren's mouth. It looked very red and chewed. He immediately began to whimper so she inserted a different finger. Torren gratefully grabbed her hand in both of his tiny chubby fists and resumed his chomping and slurping.

"You know," said John tentatively, "you might want to try one of your bantos rods instead of one of your fingers."

"I have tried that - they are too big!" she said with the wild-eyed look of a woman who has tried everything and found no solutions.

"Oh, well, erm, is there anything we can do?" mumbled John.

"Yes!" Teyla said firmly. "You can find somewhere else to play noisy games!" She turned abruptly and carried her miserable, teething baby back into her room. The door slid shut with a dismissive snap.

Sheppard and McKay picked up the errant vehicles and as quietly as they could in their booted feet, tiptoed away down the corridor.

"Maybe we should call it a night," suggested John.

"No!" Rodney was determined. "I want my revenge! And I'm not going to be able to sleep til I've got it!"

"OK, well, where can we go where nobody'll hear us?" wondered Sheppard. "Hey, how about that place Major Teldy and her team found?"

"What place?"

"A theatre! A bit like a Roman amphitheatre, you know, with tiered seats and a big round space in the middle."

"They found an Ancient theatre?" exclaimed Rodney, his eyes glittering with caffeine and sugar. He struck an extravagant pose, took a deep breath and began to declaim: "Some are born great, some achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon them!" He paused. "Julius Caesar, Shakespeare."

John struck an even more extravagant pose, the back of one hand to his forehead, other hand flung out dramatically. "Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?"

"You do realise that wherefore means why, not where?" Rodney went into lecturing mode, hands waving expressively. "Everyone thinks Juliet's wondering where he's got to, whereas really she's saying 'Why did I have to fall in love with a Montague?'"

"Oh," said John, blankly. "Anyway, I was thinking it would make a great racetrack."

"Is it far?"

John shrugged. "We can get a transporter, then maybe ten, fifteen minutes’ walk?"

"Let's go!" bounced Rodney.

John wondered briefly if he should pump Rodney full of coffee and power bars before all their missions; he was never this enthusiastic about walking off-world.

They reached their destination and as they entered the huge circular room oval lights in wall sconces flickered on, illuminating the scene before them. The walls were of dark red with subtle gold ornamentation and tiered seating with the appearance of white marble descended in concentric rows to a large space in the centre.

The two men clattered down the rows of seats and set the cars down on the ground. There was some lively discussion about who would take the outside track, until it was agreed there was plenty of room for a figure eight course and the gold inlaid pattern in the floor would help guide their route.

Then there was a hitch. Rodney's car seemed to have come off worst in the collision with Teyla's door. The steering was off and, grumbling, he sat down on the lowest row of seats, pulled out a tiny toolkit from his jacket pocket and began tinkering.

John decided to look around. He strolled around the arena, idly hopping up and down the rows of seats, his dark hair flopping as he moved. He had seldom felt to carefree. Even the ever-present threat of the Wraith couldn't dampen his spirits.

It had been doubtful, at first, whether Atlantis would return to the Pegasus Galaxy, but eventually it was decided that Atlantis and her personnel were best deployed strengthening ties with their Pegasus allies and searching for more Ancient technology with which to defend themselves. The SGC would perform the same role from earth, led by the recently promoted General Carter and both Atlantis and the SGC would be searching for parts to repair the earth weapons chair.

So, once repairs to Atlantis had been carried out, the city had returned across the vastness of inter-galactic space. And there was one mother and one baby very glad to be reunited

John felt that it was a fresh start. Mistakes of the past would never be forgotten, but he felt it was time to move on and face the future undaunted. He was glad to be back doing the job he felt he was born for. Hence the high spirits, not only down to an overdose of caffeine and sugar.

John was on the top tier of seats when he something different about one area; a control console, facing down towards the arena. 

"Hey, McKay, come and look at this!"

Rodney looked up from his car, set it down and bounded up the steps to join Sheppard.

"Hmm... Lighting? Sound? Try it!"

John put his hands on the console and it lit up. There were various buttons and sliders. He pressed a button; a spotlight appeared in the centre of the arena and all the other lights went dark.

"Leave it like that!" said Rodney and bounced back down the steps to stand in the spotlight. He drew himself up and arranged his face into a stern expression. "Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears..." he declaimed, "I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him!"

John fiddled with another key and Rodney was bathed in a soft, pink glow.

"Hey, you're spoiling the mood," he complained. "I'm not Juliet! We should stage some Shakespeare! I could play Macbeth! Or Hamlet! Or Romeo! Women would be swooning in the aisles!"

John smirked, his crooked smile climbing the side of his face. "Keller might," he muttered. He carried on twiddling the controls, making Rodney's voice alternately boom and fade, creating a cascading effect of tiny white lights and then a strobing effect which had Rodney strongly protesting and resuming his tinkering with his Maserati.

John returned the lighting to normal and Rodney set the Maserati down for a test drive.

"This is fine now! Ready to beat you in, let's say ten laps!" called Rodney, manoeuvring the car in a series of tight turns and reversals.

"OK!" John said, without looking up. "I'll just try one last effect," he said to himself pressing a key.

Nothing happened.

"Huh!" he exclaimed, disappointed and turned back to the console to power it down.

He heard Rodney say, "What? Where did...?" in confusion. He heard Rodney's boots clopping forward against the marble-like floor. But by the time he looked up, Rodney was nowhere to be seen.


	2. Backstage

The car had simply disappeared. One moment he was making it execute tight loops in reverse, the next it was gone. No fanfare, no flash of light, no smoke, no mirrors, just gone. Rodney stepped forward as if there should be some evidence, some clue. He reached down to touch the area where he had last seen the car. Then, a sudden moment of disorientation and... darkness. Or at least very dim light, and a different room. Rodney realised that the fingers he had reached out to investigate his car's disappearance were touching something plasticy. He reached further and picked up the car.

"There you are!" he said to it, holding it up as if it might answer him back. "But, where are we?"

oOo

John stared at the arena.

"Okaaay!" he drawled. "That was... unexpected!"

He turned back to the console, placing a hand on it to bring it back to life. _So_ , he thought to himself, _my guess is that's an Ancient version of a stage trapdoor. In which case_ , he pressed the key again, hoping McKay would reappear. Nothing. John was torn. He was convinced Rodney and the car were nearby somewhere; the backstage area, he guessed. Any moment Rodney might appear from a side door to berate him for pressing random buttons. But he didn't. Properly speaking, John should call for back-up, get kitted up and then go after Rodney. But that would take ages. He had his Beretta. He would follow Rodney, presumably there would be a similar console backstage that he would initialise, then use to bring them both back. Or there'd simply be some stairs. Or something. He turned to the console, pressed the key once more, skipped down the steps and moved out into the arena. Nothing happened. Where was the spot? John shuffled around, jumped from one area to another in a strange kind of dance. And then he felt a sliding sensation. And landed on Rodney. 

"Oof!" Rodney fell forward, John's sudden weight pressing him into the ground.

"Sorry!" John scrambled off Rodney. "I thought you'd have moved."

"Well, I hadn't," grumbled Rodney, rubbing his sore ribs and checking the Maserati for damage.

John stood up and looked around. The dimly-lit room was round and seemed the same size as the central arena. The walls were of a rather institutional yellow-green giving an uncomfortable, slightly eerie effect, added to by the crowding of shrouded shapes, large and small which littered the room. Rodney stood up, car tucked under his arm and began investigating.

"So, what do we have here? Useful tech? Weapons? A way out? No," he said, pulling off a dust-sheet from a large object, "we have a rack of remarkably well-preserved ten-thousand-year-old costumes. They certainly made things to last!"

"Hey, look, McKay!" said John, "a Wraith!" He pulled the mask over his head and held a long black coat up to himself.

"That's sick, Sheppard!" exclaimed Rodney. "Plays about Wraith? I'll never understand the Ancients!"

"You gotta have those bad guys, McKay, or it's no fun! Anyway," he said, swishing the leather-effect coat around, "they do have a certain style!"

"Put that down," Rodney snatched the coat and put it back on the rack. "Stylish Wraith, indeed... We need to find the way out."

"OK, you search that half, I'll take this."

They began a systematic search of the room, each man occasionally exclaiming over unusual finds. A slight altercation ensued when John found a bowl of fake fruit, several with a remarkable resemblance to citrus. "Hey, McKay, catch!" He lobbed a small mandarin-type across the room with unfortunate accuracy. It bounced off Rodney's nose, causing him to shout in horror, flapping his arms around and brushing himself down fastidiously. "Relax, McKay, it's not real!"

"You shouldn't joke about things like that!" Rodney huffed. "Just a hint of citrus and I could go into anaphylactic shock!". He carried on mumbling to himself until he spotted a box of jumbled props, out of which was sticking something insect-like. _Revenge is sweet_ , thought Rodney as he hurled the creature in John's direction. 

A yelp of shocked surprise was followed by the sound of tumbling boxes and the sound of something heavy striking something hard. 

"Found the control console," said John, having picked himself up, rubbing his head with one hand and gesturing with the prop iratus bug with the other. "So, thanks very much for that!"

"You're welcome!" replied Rodney with a satisfied smirk. "Erm... you are OK, aren't you?" he asked guiltily.

"Just bruised my dignity," replied John drily.

Rodney scrambled over the piled props to join John next to the console, which was set into the wall.

John placed his hands on the sloping surface to let his ATA gene do its thing. Nothing. The machine remained in darkness.

"Let me have a look," Rodney pushed John to one side, crouched down and began pulling off a panel.

"Can you fix it?" asked John.

"Well," Rodney sat back heavily onto the floor. "You could give me five minutes to apply my genius intellect and I'd have it in perfect working order! Or alternatively, you could find me something that actually has any parts to fix!"

John crouched down next to the deflated scientist and peered inside the panel. The interior was empty. No control crystals. Nothing.

"Well, I guess that's a bust!" John commented. "OK," he said, standing up. "Perimeter check! There must be stairs, a passage, something leading out."

They searched the walls of the circular room and under a drape of green fabric found a door. A locked door, with no discernible control panel. 

"Well, C4 might have done it!" said John, regretting the absence of his tac vest. 

"Call for back-up?" suggested Rodney.

John went to tap his ear-piece. Which wasn't there.

"Rodney, you remember that piece of tech we were testing?" he said slowly. "The one that was some kind of communications disruptor?"

"Yes of course, my ear was ringing for ages after you turned that thing on! Oh." Rodney's face fell. "So we took out our ear-pieces and left them on the bench."

John nodded slowly. "On the bench. In your lab." He took a deep, steadying breath. "So, that's, what? Plan A, B and C out! Time for D!"

"What's plan D?"

"Any other exits. The air isn't stale in here, so there must be some kind of ventilation. Hopefully," he looked at Rodney, "man-sized!"

"Oh, great, crawling around in confined spaces, my favourite," grumbled Rodney.

"Well, you could try hollering until someone hears, but, hey, could be another ten thousand years!" John waggled his eyebrows sarcastically.

They began to search again, scouring the walls, high and low, shifting racks and boxes, becoming increasingly dirty and hot. 

John heard a muffled cry from under a fallen pile of costumes.

"Hey! Here! Look!"

He scooped up piles of fabric and tossed them aside to reveal Rodney, pulling at a grating in the floor. 

"Let me try." John took one of the sturdy costume hangers, bent it into the shape he wanted and inserted it into the grating. It shifted, fell back, then John got a better grip and lifted the grating to one side. Rodney got his fingers under it and flipped it over and away.

There was a dark hole beneath. John put his face to the opening and felt the movement of air. He leant over further, taking a small flashlight from his BDU pocket and looked either way along the shaft.

"Well, I'd say this is our way out," he grinned at Rodney.

"Fantastic," Rodney said, with forced enthusiasm. "You go first!"

John began to lower himself into the hole, legs first, squirming until he could reach the bottom with one hand and carefully drop down to lie along the shaft. He could just about crawl forwards, although it was a tight fit. He heard the sound of scraping and cursing behind him, a thud, another curse and Rodney was in.

"OK?" John asked.

He heard a resigned "OK!" behind him and then, more positively, "Lead on, McDuff!"

John shone his flashlight into the gloom and led on.


	3. The Underworld

Crawling along the narrow ventilation shaft, his elbows and knees becoming increasingly bruised, John recalled Teyla's words: "You should both be in bed!" _She had a point_ , he thought, ruefully, and wondered if Torren had settled yet.

"Can you see anything?" came Rodney's voice, reverberating hollowly in the metal shaft. "Any way up?"

"Nothing yet," replied John. The shaft seemed to go on and on and, to make things worse was becoming increasingly coated in a dirty grease the further along they crawled, making it difficult to gain purchase on the slick surface. 

"So, how come this is still a thing?" came Rodney's muffled voice. "I mean, how long have we lived in this city, more than five years? You military types can't just get on and map?"

"Huge city, limited personnel, Rodney," puffed John, slipping in yet another patch of grease. "Usually just training missions get a chance to look around, or sometimes if things aren't too busy off-world. Plus there's that other small matter - the war with the Wraith?"

"I just think we should know our own city by now," continued Rodney. "We might be sitting on some important stuff and never know!"

"Well, we'll try to make it more of a priority, but right now I'm lying in some less than important stuff," said John, feeling the grease seep through his clothes. "Let's keep going."

The narrow beam of John's flashlight bounced crazily off the walls as he crawled awkwardly along. At last, the beam seemed to reflect differently, indicating a change in the shaft's shape. John stopped and Rodney blundered into his feet.

"What's happening? Is there a way up?" asked Rodney hopefully.

"No, but there's a way down," John said, feeling his way cautiously forward. He shone the flashlight down to reveal a shaft falling away straight in front of him at a descending angle of about forty-five degrees. To cross the shaft they would have to negotiate about three feet of open space, or risk sliding down the steep shaft.

"Down?" Rodney said. "We don't want to go down!"

"If we're not very careful, we'll be going down whether we want to or not!" John put the flashlight in his teeth and shuffled as near to the edge as he could. He steadied himself then reached out strongly with his arms, pushed forward and felt his hands impact with the far side of the shaft. He came up on to his feet as far as he was able, bracing himself against the near side of the shaft. He reached out, got one foot on the far side in an awkward crouched position and then pushed off and launched himself as hard as he could. With the thrust behind his foot and the slickness of the grease he shot, headfirst into the far shaft for several feet, before coming to a breathless halt.

"John?" came a worried voice. "Did you make it?"

"Yeah, Rodney, I'm here." John waited, getting his breath back. "I'm going to stick my feet back over the edge to give you something to hang onto."

"I can't see anything!" Rodney protested. "Shine the light this way!"

John shone the light back towards Rodney while shuffling back to let his feet dangle over the gap in the shaft.

"OK, reach out!"

Rodney didn't like the look of this manoeuvre at all. It was dark, the flashlight was more confusing than helpful shining on the reflective metal walls, he was exhausted, filthy and covered in slick grease. So it was no real surprise that when he gamely pushed forward to grab hold of Sheppard's booted heels his hands slipped on their thick coating of grease, he flailed cartoon-like for a few seconds in an attempt to gain purchase, and then inevitably plunged headfirst down the descending shaft. John felt Rodney's flailing hands, and then heard the thud followed by a rapidly retreating slide and fading yell.

"McKay!" he shouted. _This is not good_ , he thought. _Only one thing for it!_ John knew he had to follow. He shuffled back, letting his legs dangle into the lower shaft and then tried to release himself in a controlled descent. But despite trying to brace his arms and legs against the sides of the shaft, he nevertheless knew he was picking up speed.

Rodney had similarly tried to brace himself, throwing out his arms and legs, fingers trying in vain to catch hold of any protrusion, but he too picked up speed. The shaft did appear to be levelling off a little, but his descent was still rapid and when his feet suddenly impacted with a grating, he felt an agonising jar all the way up his feet, ankles and legs. He was dimly aware of a noise approaching him and through his pain he just had the sense to think: "Sheppard!" and fling his arms over his head, bracing his forearms together, before John's feet slammed into his arms and the extra impact forced the grating out of the end of the shaft, and Rodney along with it.

John had realised in his hurtling descent that sooner or later he would catch Rodney up. He hoped Rodney would have the sense to protect his head. John sensed as much as saw the blockage in the shaft ahead of him. He felt his feet impact with Rodney's arms and heard the bang as the grating was forced out of place. With a split-second's decision he turned on his side so that when Rodney shot straight out of the end of the shaft, John attempted to catch hold of the frame of the grating with both hands and fling himself out to one side to avoid landing on Rodney. 

He was partially successful. Rodney had landed hard on his back and then the back of his head had impacted with the floor, stunning him. John, trying to fall to one side of Rodney, landed on his side, his head thumping into Rodney's chest. 

They lay in a tangled heap, waiting for their surroundings to stop spinning, reeling from the shock of the sudden descent.

John began to sit up first, feeling scraped and bruised, especially down his left side which had impacted the hard floor. His flashlight was nowhere to be seen, but dim light illuminated a narrow walkway, the wall that they had shot out of at his back and a mass of conduits and pipes opposite, which seemed to extend both above and below the walkway. John pushed himself up further with his hands and hissed in pain. His palms and fingers were torn and bleeding from gripping the grating frame. Once again, John regretted the absence of his tac vest; the first aid kit would have been welcome right about now.

Rodney was groaning and stirring confusedly. John leant over him.

"Rodney?"

Rodney groaned again. "Hit my head. And my back. And everything else," he moaned.

"Rodney," said John, holding up his bleeding hands, "you got any handkerchiefs on you?"

"Pockets," said Rodney succinctly, slowly sitting up, holding his head. He felt in his jacket pockets, drew out two handkerchiefs, folded them and bound them round John's hands, tying them off tightly. Then he took another one and held it to the back of his head where blood was still running sluggishly down to his collar.

They both sat, painfully, leaning against the wall, taking stock of their surroundings.

"Hmm...," Rodney mused, looking around. "I think this must be the periphery of the star drive. This is one of the walkways that goes all the way round, then in there," he pointed to the conduits and pipes opposite them, "you've got all the minor power connections, fail-safes, cooling pipes etc, then further in there's the shielding and then the core."

Rodney's voice had slowly become more lively as he spoke, his fascination with the Ancient workings seeming to revive him.

"You've been here before?" asked John.

"Not this section, no, you see this is all original. I helped with the damaged area back on Earth when those Area 51 idiots were swarming all over," he said disparagingly. "They cobbled together a mix of Ancient, Asgard, Goa'uld and heaven-alone-knows-what tech to get it working."

"Well, it flew, didn't it?" 

"Yes, but it might not if we need it again."

John hauled himself up and leant against the opposite railing. He looked down into the depths and then craned his neck to look above.

"A long way down and a long way up," he said.

"'Many sink down to the Underworld,'" said Rodney in a sepulchral voice.

John smiled "'And few return to the sunlit lands,'" he returned.

"You know that one?"

"Sure!" John said, cheerfully. "My fourth grade teacher was really keen on the Narnia stories: The Silver Chair!"

Rodney got to his feet stiffly and also peered down into the depths.

"Just don't drop anything down there," he said. "I read the Lord of the Rings when I was nine; couldn't sleep with the light off for ages after the bit in the Mines of Moria." He shuddered. "Sinister tapping in the deep tunnels and then 'Drums in the Deep! We cannot get out!'"

They looked at each other uneasily. 

"We'll get out," said John. "Come on, this way."


	4. Further Down

There was no sound other than the tap of their booted feet on the metal of the walkway. No sinister tapping, no drums rolling in the deep. Nevertheless, Rodney, trailing behind John, felt a creeping sense of fear and kept glancing round over his shoulder. Their only illumination was a faint blue glow emanating from the mostly powered-down systems running to and from the star-drive. Strange shadows shifted as they moved along and there were patches of impenetrable darkness. John stopped and Rodney peered over his shoulder. The walkway had come to an end and a narrow ladder would send them in only one direction: down.

"I thought you said this thing went all the way round?" said John.

"I thought it did," Rodney replied. "This can't be the same one - maybe it's lower, or higher than the one I know!"

"Well, 'Down, down, to goblin town', it is then!" quoted John.

"Huh! The Hobbit!" said Rodney. John stepped onto the ladder and began to descend, wincing as his sore hands gripped the rungs. "You know I always thought you must have been running around outside all the time as a child rather than reading!"

"I was always outside," said John, descending steadily. Rodney stepped gingerly onto the ladder above him, hoping his still sore head wouldn't compromise his balance. "Just, sometimes I took books with me. I'd read in a den, up a tree, on the roof." He paused and looked down, then continued his descent.

"On the roof?" exclaimed Rodney.

"Sure, the roof! Didn't you ever climb onto the roof of your house?"  
"Is that a thing that normal people do? No!" Rodney thought. "Sometimes I'd hide under the bed. If I had a math problem I wanted to work on undisturbed." He sighed. "But Jeannie would always find me. And tell me I was doing it wrong. Which was really annoying."

"Should've tried the roof," said John.

He reached the bottom of the ladder and stepped lightly off, followed by Rodney, with a heavy thud. Rodney looked nervously back up the ladder. Surely he'd heard something? A slight skittering? Was that the reflection from two pale, lamp-like eyes? _No, don't be silly_. He shook himself. _Switch off the Tolkien, now!_

They found themselves on a wider path, still flanked by the curved wall on one side and mass of conduits on the other. In the shadows, not far distant, was a large, squat mass. Approaching it cautiously, they realised it was a vehicle.

"Well, this is more like it!" said John. "Transport!"

The vehicle was sturdy, with two seats up front and a wide bay in the back, like a small dump truck. Rodney peered over the back and tried to assess the contents in the dim light.

"Looks like junk," he said, with disappointment. "Still, might be some useful bits. Will this thing work?"

"Let's see." John jumped up into the driver's seat and looked at the controls. _Not so different from a jumper_ , he thought, and placed his hands on them. With a flicker and a hum the controls responded.

"Hop up, McKay, let's take this thing for a spin!"

"No spinning, please," said Rodney, pleased nevertheless to have a break from exercise.

The truck hummed gently as it trundled along the platform. John wanted to put it through its paces properly, but they needed to keep a sharp eye out for side passages.

"Stop!" Rodney called. "Back up!"

John halted the truck and backed up. There was a shallow ramp leading up into a broad passageway. They climbed out and, leaving the truck glowing and humming gently, approached the darkened passage. John gestured Rodney to stay behind him and drew his Beretta. He slid along the wall, eyes alert in the gloom. After a short way he felt the wall at his side come to an end. He took a cautious step forward. Suddenly, cold blue lights plinked on revealing a large, white-walled room, an area of benches covered higgledy-piggledy with dismembered artefacts of unknown type, and further into the room, some large bins filled with more mechanical debris. Rodney surged ahead, his eyes lighting up.

"This looks like a workshop... spare parts, a recycling facility?" he enthused, scuttling forward to pick up one thing, put it down again and grab something else. "There has to be some good stuff in here. I need a team here now!" He went to tap his comms and then remembered their absence.

"Priority is to find a way out of here, McKay," reminded John, holstering his Beretta.

"Yes, but, look there might be anything in here," Rodney paced from one bench to another, flicking through the items, "this's been down here all these years we've been sitting up there, scratching around for Ancient tech!"

"We'll find a way out and then you can bring your team down here!" John said, but Rodney had already spotted another door and was through, exclaiming over another room of items.

John resigned himself to letting Rodney have a poke around for a few minutes. _Not hours, though_ , he assured himself, looking at his watch. Nearly 4 am. They wouldn't be missed for a while yet.

John yawned. The coffee and power bars had well and truly worn off. And the adrenaline rush from falling down the vent. And the excitement of finding the little truck. _Ancient dumper. No. Tech bug? Tech hopper? Maybe..._ John was tired, thirsty and bruised and not in an exploring mood any more. He leant against one of the benches and idly ran his hands over some of the items on it. Some flickered with faint light, others stayed dull.

John felt his sixth sense prick up. A noise. No. Yes, there it was again. A very faint fluttering, buzzing sound, like the sound of a crane-fly skittering along a wall in search of light. He pushed away from the bench, slowly, scanning the room, redrawing his Beretta. Nothing. A crash from the other room and Rodney came bursting through, a look of triumph in his flushed face, hands full of prizes.

"Look!" he said, "recognise these?" He thrust a handful of blue squishy pads towards John. "Interface pads like on the weapons chair! And look," he reached into his pocket and waved the contents in John's face, "crystals! Some look a bit worn, but I think we can use them!"

"That's great, Rodney, but I think we need to leave now," said John.

"Leave? We've only just got here! This place is like a treasure trove!" Rodney's eyes sparkled.

John shifted uneasily, chewed his lower lip. "Yeah, that's great, McKay, I just get the feeling we should head off now."

Rodney's mouth formed a disappointed curve. "Oh, what, your 'Spidey Sense' is tingling?" he waggled his fingers in sarcastic quotation marks. "Just because you don't want to wait a few minutes while I make some really important discoveries? Why don't you go and play with your truck?"

"It's not like that, Rodney. I heard something and, yes, I do get the feeling we're not entirely safe." John looked round, nervously again. "We can come down here with proper back-up and make your important discoveries."

Rodney took a deep breath, ready to employ all his arts of stubbornness and self-importance to force John to let him stay a while longer. And stopped. A noise, coming from the direction of the truck. John held out his hand, unnecessarily silencing Rodney, who had already halted before beginning his tirade.

The fluttering, buzzing sound was getting closer, coming up the sloping passageway. Something shot into the room and landed on one of the light fittings. It was pale, insect-like, with large compound eyes, yet no discernible mouth. It had wings of a strange design, many long, spindly legs, quite reminiscent of a crane-fly, but about ten times as big. It clung to the light, legs splayed out, immobile.

Rodney whispered meekly, "OK, let's go!"

Having had more than enough experience of dangerous alien insects meant that neither man was willing to chance the creature's intentions. They began edging slowly towards the entrance. 

Another creature flew in and alighted on a piece of tech still faintly glowing from John's half-hearted rummaging. The legs splayed out and John noticed that they weren't all clinging round the outside of the artefact; some were being forced, with considerable strength, into the glowing heart of the item, splintering the case. 

"It's using the energy!" whispered Rodney. "They must survive down here off the residual power!"

"Move," John said, quietly but decisively. "Now."

They made their way quickly back down the passage, several of the insects flittering by, but so far ignoring them. When they came to the truck, however, they saw that its warmth and glow had attracted many more creatures. And as the lights in the facility went out behind them, more of the insects came back down the passage, seeking the energy they craved. 

Rodney felt a sharp prick in his upper arm, turned his head and found himself face-to-face with one of the creatures.  
He screamed and batted at his arm. "Get it off! Get it off!"

John hit at the insect with his Beretta and it fell off, only to rise and try to latch onto John's arm. Its legs felt like thin, hard wires and they began to burrow into the warmth of his flesh before he grabbed at it in one hand and tore it away.

John made a decision. "Come on!" He shoved his Beretta back into its holster, grabbed Rodney's jacket and they both ran back into the repair room. Lights flashed on again around them and the insects once more rushed in to absorb their energy. John quickly ran his hands along the artefacts on one of the benches and, picking out those that showed signs of life, grabbed as many as he could, thrust them into Rodney's hands, and then went back for more. Insects were already skittering around the two men and puncturing their skin in their frenzy to get at the energy of the artefacts, but John and Rodney ignored them and ran back out to make a pile of tech on the ground.

John closed his eyes, put his hands on the pile and concentrated hard, despite the flurrying of wings and the scraping of needle-like claws around him. The pile suddenly burst into life, illuminating the whole area with a white light. John leapt away as the frenzied insects abandoned the truck and swarmed around the pile.

"Get on the truck!" he yelled.

John leapt into the driver's seat while Rodney hurled himself into the rear compartment, legs still flailing over the edge as John forced the vehicle into a surge of power, taking them away as far and as fast as they could go.


	5. Climbing

"Are they following?" John called over his shoulder.

"No. Yes! I don't know!" Rodney held onto the sides of the truck, trying to steady himself against the bouncing of their headlong flight. "I can't tell!"

"We'll get far enough ahead then ditch this thing," said John. "Leave it as a decoy and go on on foot."

They sped on through the darkness, John squinting ahead, trying to see their route in the bug's dim headlights. _Bug_ , he thought; a good name, even if he wasn't exactly over-keen on certain types of bug. John was pretty sure they'd out-run the insect-like creatures at least for now but he didn't want to take any chances. He realised that the pathway seemed to narrow and slammed the vehicle to a halt, performing a slewing handbrake turn.

Rodney yelped as he was flung round. "Sheppard!" 

"End of the line, McKay," said John, leaping down from the Bug. "There's some damage here!" John told him. "Looks like something fell on this bit. It's wide enough to walk, though. C'mon, before those things catch up!"

The platform was sheared off along the outer edge as if something had come crashing down on it from above. It creaked alarmingly as they trod carefully past the damaged section, but held firm. John picked up the pace and Rodney followed, panting. In the darkness behind them the faint glow from the Bug could still be seen, but as John glanced over his shoulder it was suddenly obscured by many wings and filament-like legs. John shuddered and ran on They stopped, eventually, and listened. Silence, apart from their own breathing.

"I'd really like to be heading to bed right now," commented John, leaning against the wall tiredly. "Just a couple of hours' sleep and then maybe coffee, eggs... Just the simple things!"

"Just coffee would be good," said Rodney, head hanging down, hands resting on his knees.

"C'mon, Rodney," John pulled Rodney up, gave him a reassuring pat on the back, "let's go find that coffee!"

They walked on, until a choice presented itself. A ladder led straight up, and looking up they could see a platform high above them. A narrow side passage led directly into the wall, sloping upward, possibly leading to higher levels. Or their route round the periphery of the star-drive continued.

"This is like one of those 'Choose your own adventure' books," said Rodney. "Continue straight ahead, turn to page forty-five, climb the ladder, page twenty eight, take the side tunnel, page sixty two, in my experience, every choice leading to gruesome death!"

"Well, I think it's time we headed up," said John. 

"I'm not climbing that ladder!" protested Rodney.

"No, I agree," said John, flexing his cut hands carefully. "We'll try this passage."

John was getting sick of the constant dim lighting and shadowed areas. Somewhere above them the sun was about to rise and shine on the graceful towers of the city. They would soon be missed and John was embarrassed to think that search parties would probably be sent out. 

Rodney was thinking less about coffee now and more about the quantity of food he would need to restore his blood sugar levels when they got back to civilization. He ran through a potential list in his head: _Oatmeal to start, just to take the edge off, then eggs, toast, maybe some pancakes, fruit on top, perhaps there's some of that Athosian syrup left..._ His stomach rumbled uncomfortably and he decided to think about something else.

There were small yellow lights at intervals along the passage, allowing them to see, after about ten yards, a stairwell, which appeared to ascend many flights, or at least went as high as the low lighting could reveal.

"This is more like it!" said John.

They began clattering up the stairs, energy and enthusiasm revived, hoping for a more straightforward route home. 

"Aren't there any transporters down here?" asked John, jogging up the stairs.

"Not reliable ones," puffed Rodney. "The Area 51 morons managed to overload the control crystals in one of them; said they were trying to make it more efficient. I said 'leave well alone!' but did they listen to the resident expert? No!" Rodney halted, out of breath with indignation as much as exertion. John stopped too and waited. 

"C'mon, we're nearly at the top, Rodney!"

At the top of the stairs a cream-panelled corridor led off in three directions. Left proved to lead back to the walkways surrounding the star-drive, with no obvious exits to the higher city and the way straight ahead soon turned a corner and led through increasingly fire-damaged corridors to a blocked door. 

"I know where we are now," said Rodney snapping his fingers. "This leads to the secondary control room for the star-drive. It was damaged so badly in the attack on earth it was sealed off until it can be repaired. We're not getting through there!"

John sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "I think we must have reached X on the list of action plans," he said. 

"No, let me think now," said Rodney. "This area is near the desalination plant. We'll be able to find a way back up through there!" He marched back down the corridor decisively and led the way past the head of the staircase and on into the maze of corridors.

After a frustrating half hour of locked doors, empty rooms, and a maddeningly broken transporter, Rodney spotted a short ladder tucked away in a corner, and set into the ceiling above, a hatch, secured by a hand wheel. There was a faded notice in Ancient on the wall next to it.

"Can you read that?" asked John.

"No. That is, yes, some of it." Rodney scrutinized the writing. "It seems to be a warning."

The two men looked at each other then back at the hatch. 

"Is this really something we want to be opening, McKay?" said John.

"We want to go up, it leads up," said Rodney shortly. "Let's just do it."

John resignedly climbed the ladder, hooked one leg around the rungs so the he could let go with his hands and turned the wheel. It was very stiff. He strained hard and eventually it began to turn reluctantly. John felt the hatch give, and pushing further up on the ladder with his feet, forced the hatch open with his arms and shoulders. It flipped and fell open with a clang.

He stuck his head through and felt rather than saw a vast echoing space, with a slight but distinct tang of salt and seaweed. 

"What can you see?" called Rodney. "Does it go anywhere?"

"Think it's a water tank," John replied. "I can see a ladder on the wall. We could climb it."

John pushed himself through the hatch and stood, the sound of his boots reverberating in the huge space. Rodney scrambled after him. There was a very large round inlet pipe next to them and several further hatches and pipes could be seen set into the walls higher up. John thought he could hear the sound of waves surging against the sides of the city somewhere overhead and there was a tinkling as of slowly trickling water somewhere nearby.

"This is definitely one of the water storage tanks," said Rodney, his voice loud in the cavernous space. "They feed the desalination plant. They're usually kept full!"

"Well, it's a good thing this one wasn't!" John said.

"Oh, so you think that hatch would've opened with the tank full?" said Rodney, scornfully.

"I guess not!" John conceded. It had been a long night. He looked up. "D'you think that's daylight?" he gestured at the cold, white light shining palely down from a series of small windows far above them.

"I hope so! We've climbed a long way!" said Rodney, eagerly.

"More climbing yet!" said John setting his feet on the rungs.

They began to climb, tired muscles aching, longing for a sight of the sun, some food, their beds and nobody to ask awkward questions.

Rodney climbed steadily, his breath puffing in and out and he reflected how, at one time such exertion would have been beyond him, especially after a sleepless night and having had nothing to eat or drink for hours. As he congratulated himself on his stoicism, he slowly became aware that not only was the light above him definitely signalling the dawn of a new day, but the trickling sound he had been vaguely aware of for a while now was steadily increasing in volume and intensity.

Rodney felt his brain snap into gear. "Sheppard! Move! Fast!" he spluttered, arms and legs beginning to pump with frantically renewed urgency.

"What?" exclaimed John, confused but responding to Rodney's desperate tone nonetheless. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Solar controlled inlet!" Rodney gasped. "Dawn! Switches on!"

As Rodney spoke there was a roar of water and the gigantic inlet pipe below them opened fully and a massive spout of water erupted into the tank, which began to fill at a frightening rate.

John and Rodney saw, with horror, the water surging and frothing and rising beneath them. Above, the fragile ladder stretched into the dimness, the hatch at the top still a long way off. It was too far. They were not going to make it.


	6. The Sunlit Lands

Seawater roared into the chamber in a furious, boiling torrent. The two men climbed, but they knew the level was rising too fast; they could not out-climb it. Nor could they wait for it to rise and tread water, hoping that there would be some breathing space left in the tank; they would swiftly be dragged into the depths of the bubbling, frothing maelstrom.

John scanned the side of the tank above him as he climbed. There was a circular opening about ten feet higher, to one side of the ladder. Some kind of over-flow? A safety valve? John didn't care; if it led outside or even into another tank, it would do. He climbed even faster, feeling the spray from the churning water even as it climbed over Rodney's legs below him. John reached the pipe and swung inside. It was short; there was a hatch at the other end secured by a wheel. He could hear Rodney scrabbling for purchase on the outside of the pipe, felt him grip hold of his ankles and pulled his legs forward, dragging Rodney in after him.

They crawled desperately through the narrow, circular shaft, water beginning to froth over the lip of the pipe behind them. John reached the outer hatch, grabbed the handwheel and strained, turning it with all his strength. It remained totally unmoving. He braced himself against the side of the pipe, feeling the water rising over his legs, and heaved at the wheel again. The water surged into the pipe and the pressure forced Rodney into John's back. He could barely move his arms to turn the wheel and the pipe was nearly full, he couldn't breathe, they were drowning!

The hatch gave with a sudden lurch. It slammed wide open and John was flung out with it, out into the daylight and in a wild arc to crash back against the outer wall of the city, only his instinct to cling onto the hand wheel preventing him from being hurled into the sea along with the torrent of water. Rodney shot out of the pipe like a cork from a bottle, arced out of the side of the city and plunged into the sea below. John dangled from the hatch, swinging in the wind and spray from the gushing jet of water. If Rodney had hit the water at the wrong angle, he could be hurt, he could even be...

There! Rodney's head broke the surface, but he immediately begin thrashing around in panic at his plunge into the cold water. His head went beneath the waves once more and John knew Rodney was in trouble. John looked beneath him. Rodney had moved away from the sea wall; if he dropped straight he should be safe. John stretched out his body, pointed his toes and let go. He plummeted down through the air and down into the grey green depths below. 

The shock of the cold was intense. John tried to breathe out steadily through his nose, resisting the impulse to gasp. He surfaced and was immediately hit in the face by a wave. The salt burned his eyes and the back of his throat, and his clothes weighed him down. He looked for Rodney but couldn't see him. It would have been easy to panic. John oriented himself, thinking where he had fallen from, where had Rodney been. He turned, kicked forward through the waves. There he was, still flailing, trying to swim, gasping for air. John shouted, as loud as he could: "Rodney! Stop! Float!" If they hadn't been part of a close-knit team, if they hadn't been best friends, if Rodney hadn't trusted John absolutely, John's shout might not have got through. But they were and it did. Rodney's thrashing arms and legs stilled. Gasping, his eyes, wide and terrified met John's and he began to calm down and think. John knew then it was safe to approach. 

He swam alongside Rodney. "Tread water!" he instructed. "Slow. Calm!"

He could see Rodney's breathing calming, responding to his words. They bobbed up and down in the waves, over the initial shock of the cold, but still definitely in danger. 

John looked around, trying to see above the swell of the water. The walls around them were sheer, vertical; there was no chance of climbing out. But where were they? They seemed to have come out about halfway along one of the piers. There was a chance of being spotted if there were any personnel out early, maintaining the landing platforms, but the area was too huge and personnel too few to rely on that. They'd have to get themselves out of this mess. John realised he recognised this area. At the apex of where this pier met the next there was a series of broad steps; he'd swum from there before. It was a long way to swim, fully clothed and already tired, but it was the only place they'd have a chance of climbing out.

John floated on his back and held out his arm to Rodney. They formed a human raft, legs kicking, outside arms sculling. Every so often a wave would catch them unawares and one or other would choke and stop, spitting out the stinging brine. They were cold, limbs dragged down with the weight of their clothes, eyes bloodshot, hair plastered to their heads. But they kept going, and they made steady progress.

Rodney looked up at the blue sky, streaked with pale yellow clouds reflecting the newly risen sun. He realised that the saltwater was stinging the back of his head where he'd cut it in the fall from the ventilation shaft. His arms were also stinging from the marks left by the strange insect-creatures' wiry legs. He felt heavy and nearing exhaustion, but strangely content. He and Sheppard would make this. It was what they did.

"I left my car backstage," he said, abruptly.

"Huh? What?" 

"The Maserati. I left it behind," said Rodney.

"Oh, well," John drawled, "back we go, then."

They kept kicking, kept sculling.

"What's the time?" asked Rodney.

John looked at his watch. "06:15," he replied, spitting out a mouthful of water.

"Breakfast time," said Rodney, longingly.

John craned his neck to look over his shoulder. "Another twenty minutes should do it," he said.

"Twenty minutes!" groaned Rodney.

"Stick with it, McKay, we'll get there!"

They turned as they neared their destination, facing forward to see the broad terraced area leading up to the surface of the pier. The waves surged up over the steps, breaking and retreating in a powerful rhythm. 

"We'll need to time it," said John, observing the pattern of the waves, "or we'll be caught by the backwash and end up back in."

They both knew their energy was nearly at its end; a struggle now to gain dry land could be fatal.

They approached gradually and waited for the pattern of waves to repeat. John watched with the eye of an experienced surfer; two smaller surges, then would come a big one. He gripped Rodney's arm, tightly. "Ready?" he said.

As the next wave came, John and Rodney let it take them, both kicked as hard as they could and reached out for the haven of the steps, felt the metal surface beneath them, felt themselves lift away from it, then drop, hard, taking their breath away. The water sluiced back over them, draining away into the sea, draining away the last dregs of their strength.

oOo

Ronon was running. He was running alone, because Sheppard had not answered his door that morning. Never one for pointless speculation, Ronon had shrugged and gone on his own. It was a fine, bright day; he would run along one of the piers and back. Or maybe two. Two would work up more of an appetite, and if the simple pleasure of a large breakfast could be increased, Ronon was all for it.

He breathed in the fresh, salty air deeply as he ran, relishing being outside and active. Something caught his observant eye. He glanced down at the area where people sometimes swam. Two dark-coloured heaps lay motionless on the steps. Ronon stopped. _Sea creatures?_ he thought. _No_. One of them twitched, stirred and rolled over, flinging an arm over his eyes. _Sheppard_ , Ronon smirked to himself, _and McKay_. 

John and Rodney lay, face down, heavy with complete exhaustion, battered and bruised by their night's adventure, grateful for the warmth of the metal surface beneath them and the growing heat from the morning sun. John licked his lips and tasted the salt. His eyelashes were crusted with salt too and he could feel his clothes stiffening as they dried. 

Rodney groaned. "Need to move. Hungry," he said, then replied to himself: "too tired. Someone bring food!"

John rolled over slowly and flung an arm up as the bright sun shone in his eyes.

A shadow loomed.

"Morning, Sheppard, McKay," said the shadow.

Rodney twitched and John opened his eyes.

"Hey, Ronon," said John.

Ronon grinned down at him.


	7. Epilogue

They had made it to the Mess Hall. Ronon, who wasn't wearing a comm link, had offered to run back and call them a medical team, but the thought of this had roused John to his feet and they had managed to get Rodney up and moving by encouraging him with talk of coffee and breakfast; Ronon knew for a fact that there were pancakes this morning. They had staggered along unsteadily, one on either side of Ronon, his arms supporting them, until their stiff limbs had loosened up, and Rodney had caught the scent of coffee on the fresh morning air. 

Both were eating mechanically, with their eyes closed. Ronon watched John spooning in oatmeal with a slow but steady rhythm and wondered exactly how much oatmeal John would consume if he were to substitute a full tray between mouthfuls. He had already topped-up Rodney's stack of pancakes several times and Rodney had neither acknowledged the addition nor shown any sign of stopping. Their appearance was drawing some sidelong glances and some muttered, amused comment; their salt-rimed clothes and hair; their, pale, bruised faces; the fact that John's head was sagging slowly toward his oatmeal and Rodney had come to a halt, pancake hanging out of his mouth.

When Dr Jennifer Keller entered the Mess Hall, however, it was as if a whirlwind had been released. She took in the situation at a glance, shot Ronon a venomous glare through narrowed eyes that promised retribution for not informing her instantly of her charges' battered condition, chivvied the two men into some semblance of wakefulness and whisked them away. Within the hour they were showered, changed into scrubs, subjected to a battery of scans and tests, and would then have been released, except both had fallen unmoveably asleep. Rodney lay on his side, one arm dangling limply over the edge of the bed, a thin stream of drool trailing from the corner of his mouth. John had lain down on his front and not moved, his face mashed into the pillow, his hair sticking up in freshly-washed disarray.

Mid-afternoon in the infirmary and the two men still slept. Woolsey entered quietly, dismayed and not a little annoyed to find two of his most senior staff out of action due to some unspecified misadventure. He left five minutes later however, a small smile flickering on his lips and several gel interface pads and control crystals clutched in his hands. _Leave it to those two to make a significant find on our own doorstep_ , he thought, and looked forward to having a full report to send back to the SGC.

John woke, confused and thirsty. He attempted to raise himself onto his elbows, realised how stiff and sore he'd become, groaned and tried again. There was a cup of water on the side table next to him. He reached for it, gulped it down and then in one determined motion, swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. His head spun for a moment but then the room steadied. He scrubbed at his face with both hands and then rubbed them through his hair, increasing its wildness exponentially. His stomach rumbled its unhappiness at several missed meals. McKay was in the bed next to him, still asleep. That wouldn't do. He reached out, prodded Rodney's shoulder. And then did it again, and a few more times until Rodney responded with a burbled, "Get off, Sheppard!"

"Hey! McKay!" John said, picking up a cup of water and handing it to his friend. "Let's blow this joint and find something to eat!"

Rodney's bright blue eyes snapped open fully. He sat up. This was a mission he'd enjoy.

Rodney had a serious calorie deficit to make up. His piled tray met with a few raised eyebrows but no real surprise when he sat down with his team at their table over-looking the ocean. He sighed in anticipation, flexed his fingers, picked up his cutlery and began.

Torren, sitting on Teyla's lap, was the picture of happy infancy, wide eyes gazing at his mother and her friends, chubby fists waving as if to emphasize that all was right with his world.

"Hey, little guy!" said John, holding out a finger. Torren grabbed the finger and triumphantly waved it around.

"He has a new tooth!" Teyla said proudly. Torren obligingly grinned, revealing a tiny white incisor.

"So, where'd you two get to last night?" asked Ronon.

"I would like to know that too!" agreed Teyla.

"Well," John began. "We went to the theatre!"

"Then we were invited backstage!" continued Rodney, chewing his meatloaf with enjoyment.

"Then it all went kind of downhill," John said.

"A long way down," Rodney agreed.

Teyla ate her salad and looked enquiringly.

"We found some cool tech!" said John.

"An Ancient repair shop," said Rodney, "and some insects!"

"And a Bug!" said John, confusingly.

"Then...," Rodney thought, "we went for a swim!"

"I noticed," said Ronon.

"Anyway," said Rodney, shovelling in another forkful of mashed potato, "All's well that ends well!"

Torren, who had been casually waving a leaf of Teyla's salad, chose that moment to make a bid for Rodney's dessert. Both of his hands landed with considerable force into the large helping of chocolate pudding, resulting in the entire team receiving a thorough splattering with chocolate sauce. Torren laughed.

Ronon shrugged.

Teyla sighed.

Rodney wiped the sauce from his face and licked his fingers appreciatively. 

"Maybe we should all go for a swim?" suggested John.


End file.
